


Loyalty Lies

by cemetrygatess



Series: Love Don't Come Easy (or The Journey Home Verse) [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, But eventually comfort, Cardassian Culture, Established Relationship, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Legacy of space colonialism, Lots of hurt first, M/M, Mystery, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Beta Canon compliant, Nothing broken that can't be mended, Nothing lost that can't be found, POV Multiple, Post-Canon Cardassia, Relationship Problems, Secrets, Spying, The art of Cardassian conversation, The nature of power, Trust, What can be forgiven?, What is justified?, fate of the alpha quadrant, the weight of the past, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29348505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cemetrygatess/pseuds/cemetrygatess
Summary: An enigmatic call from Garak, a looming sense of foreboding and ties that bind. What does the future of the Alpha quadrant hold?  Who can be trusted? And what role will Julian and Garak play? Sooner or later the past comes knocking.Sequel to The Journey Home but can be read alone.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: Love Don't Come Easy (or The Journey Home Verse) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155734
Comments: 12
Kudos: 21





	1. Past Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First, this fic has some hard topics that I have left untagged. That’s so things can come as a surprise. If that isn’t your thing, this fic isn’t for you. The tag relationship problems is doing A LOT of work. This fic is going to cover some hard moments for Julian and Garak. I’ve picked “author chose not to use archive warnings” as a result. That said, I do not expect to have non-con or graphic violence in this work, and will give a warning above a chapter if I change that. If that doesn’t seem reasonable, you’re free to turn back now. 
> 
> Second, you do not need to read The Journey Home to read this, but the reading experience may be improved by doing so. I conceived of this fic as I wrote that one. And I have used that fic as a reference as I write this fic. A close read may foreshadow some of what is to come, or a reread after the fact may be interesting. Also, The Journey Home is a work I am proud of and I think is good.
> 
> Here’s the [link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624791/chapters/56697889) to that. 
> 
> Okay Shall we Begin?

_ 5 Years in Past  _

Kelas didn’t have to wait long. He had given Julian a 12 hour shift, one that ended an hour later than usual. There were benefits to being the Minister of Health. He could make these sort of tiny adjustments without anyone knowing. 

This ensured nearly no one else would be leaving at this time. All then he had to do was position himself outside the hospital entryway. It was late. The bars were already closed. There was a sort of quiet that implied more desolation than the reality. It was the cold of night, and a faint breeze brushed through Kelas’ long grey hair. He had dressed for the weather; this was not a conversation where it was prudent to show weakness. 

Nearly any respectable Cardassian was asleep by now. There were however perks to being less than respectable. 

Julian staggered out into the night, head bowed and seeming to let out a breath of relief. How premature, thought Kelas. 

Dr. Bashir for all his so-called intelligence did not notice him until they were mere steps from one another. Julian jumped slightly, while Parmak remained completely still. 

“Hello, Julian,” he said, selecting that tone which always seemed to unsettle Julian. 

“Er.. hello Kelas. What do I owe this late night visit?” Dr. Bashir’s voice was unsure, and there was something in it of fear. Kelas observed the human’s pupils dilating.  _ Was it just from stepping out into the night, or something more?  _

“When you next visit your office… which I know you do so rarely these days, you will find a message from StarFleet offering you a posting on the USS Saratoga. As I understand it this would be a serious promotion for you.” 

“How would you know that? Have you been reading my subspace communications?” The human was clearly already out of his depth. His posture, his tone, Parmak knew instantly that he had succeeded in putting Julian on the defensive. Something in Julian seemed to understand that Kelas was an inherent threat to him. 

“Because I also controlled your most recent re-assignment,” Kelas smiled, but not his kind smile. 

“You what!?” The human’s face was so open, so full of surprise. 

_ This is the man you love, Elim? _

“I brought you here. Elim would go on and on about you. I heard a new praise of you every week for a year. I thought, if you came here the thing between you two would be resolved one way or the other. Well, you’ve certainly proved me wrong on that account. And of course beyond that you seemed to have a track record of saving planets, something which Cardassia was sorely in need of. What do you humans say? Two birds one stone.” 

“So Section 31 didn’t send me?” confusion colored Julian’s voice. It took everything in Parmak not to laugh. 

“Oh no, they did. I work for Section 31.” Kelas smirked. 

“You work for Section 31?” The shock in Dr. Bashir’s voice was near comical. 

Oh how inflexible the human mind seemed to be. Perhaps there was something particularly Cardassian about the ability to layer secret after secret, and to never trust that the last secret had been revealed. 

A slight wind blew and Julian shivered. He was clearly uncomfortable, and it struck in Kelas a vicious sort of pity. 

“We have a long term plan to get Cardassia to join the Federation. You’ve been most helpful by the way. The perception of the Federation here was quite poor, but now… well it’s much the opposite.” Parmak had known he would enjoy this conversation, but not this much. 

“So to clarify, you’re saying mission accomplished and promoting me out?” There was an indignation in Julian’s tone, it implied that there was some fight in him yet; Kelas liked that. 

“I’m saying you have an out if you want one,” said Kelas, taking a step towards Dr. Bashir. He leered at him, using every inch of height he had on the man to his advantage. 

“Okay. So I assume you’re now going to make an argument to me one way or another on that?” Julian sounded defeated. 

“Oh no. I merely have some more facts to divulge.” 

“More? How is there more?” The poor man looked like a vole kicked one too many times. 

“Garak gave you a key.”

“Yes, this one.” Julian held up the small gold key. “What of it?” 

“I take it no one has explained to you yet the significance of keys in Cardassian culture.” Kelas knew that no one had. 

Julian groaned.

“No of course not. No one ever bothers to explain.” Dr. Bashir pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Different keys denote different relationships. A brass key might give to a housekeeper or gardener. Someone who you trust but consider inferior. A silver key is for close friends and family. Ones who you trust enough to give access to your home. A silver key is a high compliment,” Kelas explained. Julian squirmed under his gaze, processing the information provided. 

“Okay and what about a gold key?” Julian asked, sounding equal measure exasperated and overwhelmed. 

“A gold key is as good as a will.” 

Julian’s eyebrows shot up, and his face again transformed with a special kind of shock.

“A will?” The human’s voice was all disbelief. 

“Yes, like a deed. It’s a bit old fashioned, but still legally binding,” Kelas continued. 

“I… didn’t know.” His words were halted, seemingly unsure of where to go, or what to do. 

It was so very human that this was what surprised Dr. Bashir the most. The explanations that Kelas had given as to how he’d been brought to Cardassia had been accepted without question. That Garak loved him however, was something to be questioned. _ Elim deserves better.  _

“No, I had gathered that much,” Kelas replied, he let himself sound amused. It was better to focus on how funny this all was rather than how pitiful. 

“He gave it to me on my second day here.” Julian’s voice was faraway, clearly working on the implications of such a gift. 

“Elim has always been a bit sentimental.” Kelas smiled, but his gut twisted with something cold and angry. 

“Is it a…” Julian began, but Kelas cut him off. 

“No. No! No, you’ll have to ask Elim that. There’s only so much I am willing to meddle. But you should ask him, or you should take the promotion. Have one honest conversation with Elim Garak or leave Cardassia. I don’t care which.” His anger got the better of him, and Kelas’s words came out louder than he intended. 

He would not tell Julian that he’d been carrying around a marriage proposal for months. Garak’s behavior embarrassed him; in his estimation Julian was not worth it. But how can you protect someone from their own heart?

“Kelas, I’m confused. I didn’t think you liked me for Garak. In fact, it’s you who recently set him up!” 

_ I don’t like you for Garak. There are however bigger things at play. _

“And didn’t that setup go quite poorly?” Kelas tilted his head, waiting for a response. 

“I…” 

“Julian, if I thought Garak should marry a nice Cardassian woman, I would have brought someone remotely suitable. And I still can. I believe the human phrase would be fish or cut bait. You have had Elim on the line nearly 8 years, so I think you really ought to be ready to make a decision.” Kelas raised his eye ridges to emphasize the point. 

“Okay. Yes. You’re right. Thank you, Kelas. I really had better get going.” 

Julian turned and took off in a sprint, not even looking back to see Kelas’ expression.

***

“Well, how did it go?” Telora asked. His wife’s small frame curled up on the couch, jet-black hair loose and PADD in hand. She smiled softly in the low light of their living room. Her eyes had something knowing in them. 

“They’ll be a happy couple soon enough,” Kelas said, walking forward. He leaned down briefly to place a soft kiss on her chufa. He kept his face neutral when he said that.

“Good. And he believed your fabrications?” Telora tilted her head, waiting for a response. 

“His mind was otherwise occupied.” Kelas smirked. 

“Of course it was,” she said, returning his smile. 


	2. Come Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak calls Julian at work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the stardate system doesn't really seem particularly well suited for this fic, which is unfortunate because there is a lot of jumping between times. For that reason, I am designating a "present" to which everything else is a set an amount of time before. This present is 5 years into Julian and Garak's marriage. Hopefully that makes sense!

_Present Day_

“Julian, dear, at your earliest convenience I was wondering if you might stop by the house.” There was something not quite right in Garak’s voice as it came through the net. He had called while Julian was at work, something he had only done on a countable number of occasions in the 4 and a half years of their marriage. 

“What’s wrong Elim?” Julian asked, sitting down in front of the view screen in his tiny hospital office. 

“Oh, it’s absolutely nothing urgent. I just twisted my shoulder while gardening, and I could use your physician’s attention.” While Garak’s words said nothing urgent, his face was a different matter. There was a barely concealed fear in his husband’s eyes, something that alluded to much more than a twisted shoulder. Julian’s heart beat faster at the thought; the white walls of his office suddenly felt suffocating. 

“Shall I tell Toval I need the rest of the day off?” 

Time off was not something generally given on short notice on Cardassia, but being friends with your supervisor had its perks. Julian knew that if Garak suggested a half day, something was seriously wrong — Garak had never called him home early before. Not even when he’d dropped a particularly heavy pot on his toes, and had been barely able to walk. 

“That might be prudent,” Garak replied. His eyes were very serious. Julian sensed this was not about a shoulder. 

“Okay, I’ll be there in 15 minutes,” Julian promised. 

“Oh were you thinking of taking the transport?” Garak asked, his voice casual in a way that Garak never was. 

“That is how I usually get home.” A touch of exasperation found its way to Julian’s voice. 

“Well, I was just thinking that there’s a salve sold on that corner shop, near the museum, that would be excellent for the pain, but you would need to take a roundabout way to pick it up for me.”

“That’s no problem,” said Julian. He had never heard of any such shop in his life, nor of any salve. Besides, he had plenty of pain medication in his medkit. If Julian had to guess, Garak was instructing him to walk home a different way than usual, and to not take any public transportation.  _ What could possibly be happening? _

“Thank you, darling,” Elim said with a winning smile. 

“Anything else?” Julian asked. 

“No, no,” Elim said, wincing slightly. “Just come home quickly. I’m in quite a bit of pain.”

Julian terminated the call, and stood from the desk. Suddenly, he felt very glad the door to his office had been closed. 

***

Dr. Tenlin Toval was hunched over a pile of paperwork in his office. He was wearing his reading glasses, and seemed to be completely absorbed, muttering to himself occasionally. The office was slightly bigger than Julian’s with white walls and a cluttered bookshelf. He had at least three empty cups of tea on his desk at any given time; today Julian counted four. Julian felt a surge of fondness for his best friend. Not even being promoted to the head of general medicine could eliminate those messy tendencies. Julian hung about the door frame, but clearly Toval had heard. 

“Julian, what can I do for you?” he asked, looking up from his paperwork. “Here to volunteer to do my paperwork for me?” He smiled, short dark hair sticking up at odd angles. His look was rather unkempt for a Cardadassian, but it suited him. 

“No, rather the opposite I’m afraid. Garak called and it seems there’s been some sort of emergency. I was hoping you could cover my appointments this afternoon. I only have a few more scheduled.” Julian winced; he hated asking for special treatment. 

“What sort of emergency?” asked Tenlin.

“I couldn’t say, but Elim looked concerned. You know my husband and his tendency towards being cryptic.” Julian sighed. 

“You’ve known he was cryptic since before you married him, you can hardly be surprised he hasn’t changed.”

“I just wish sometimes…” Julian began, before stopping himself with another sigh. “You know.” Julian closed the door. He came into the office fully and leaned against the wall. 

“Yeah.” Toval’s eyes were searching. He took off his readers, as if that would somehow reveal something that he hadn’t been able to see before. 

“I just thought marriage would be easier.” Julian frowned. “More straight-forward.”

“With Elim Garak?” Toval raised his ridges in apparent amusement, a reality check if there ever was one. 

“I know! Foolish!” Julian rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the floor for a moment. The floor was a pleasing pattern of diamond gray tiles, focusing on them steadied him. 

“I’m just saying, you can’t fall in love with a man for being mysterious, and then go turning around asking for a straightforward marriage, whatever that is. It’s like buying a ticket to Feregniar and only packing for warm and dry weather.”

“No, you’re right and you were right the last three times we’ve had this conversation.” Julian looked up, frowning. 

“But?” Tenlin’s brown eyes prodded Julian to respond. 

“Mysterious is one thing, but I just wish it felt… well better, I guess” 

“Yeah, that’s understandable. I assume because we’re having this conversation, you still haven’t talked about it with him.” Tenlin’s tone was kind, and nonjudgmental. 

“No, no. I don’t even really know how to, and every time I try he deflects.”

“Maybe today?” Toval’s voice was hopeful. He was ever the optimist. 

“I doubt it,” Julian scoffed. “I just can’t believe…”

Tenlin cut him off. “We shouldn’t discuss such details at work. You never known when someone might be listening”

“Yeah.” Julian sighed again. 

“No, it’s okay. Are you feeling any better than last week at least?”

“I wouldn’t say better. It’s more… well… less panicky and more resigned.” 

“I’m sorry.” Toval’s eyes were full of pity. 

“I have to face that in all likelihood my marriage is over.” Julian heard the acceptance in his voice, and it wounded him.  _ How had it come to this? _

“Don’t make any rash decisions. Deal with one thing at a time. Go home and make sure whatever this emergency is gets sorted out.”

“Yeah one thing at a time.” He took a big breath. 

“In the meantime, I’d love an excuse to ignore this paper work for a few hours, and tomorrow night you can buy me a glass of kanar to thank me. We can come up with a real plan then. For now, he’s your enjoined, and if something’s really wrong, he should come first. And if he was just being dramatic and there was no emergency after all, well then we already have plans, and you can complain then.” Toval smiled. 

“You’re an absolute life saver, Tenlin.”

“Yeah, yeah, leave before I change my mind.”

“Thank you!” Julian replied as he ducked out of Toval’s office. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I waited till Valentine's day was over to post this. I think that's only fair. 
> 
> Your comments, kudos and wild speculation are always appreciated.


	3. A Call with an Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s always so nice to keep in touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember at the end of DS9 where Worf was made the ambassador to the Klingon empire? Well let’s just ignore the TNG movies and pretend that’s still a thing.

_ Four Days Earlier _

A chime came at the door, and Worf shifted in his bed, but didn’t wake. Another chime, and he stirred, sitting up in bed. The warm reds and beiges of the generic guest quarters came into focus as he blinked sleep out of his eyes. It had been a long week with the High Council cooped up together on a single starship, and the feeling of sleep clung to him longer than it might have otherwise.

He was about to yell out about the inappropriate time for visitors, when the security override was used, and the doors opened without his permission. In the hallway stood three security officers  — a Vulcan woman and two human men, all with phasors at the ready. The Vulcan woman, who Worf recognized as the chief of security spoke first. 

“Ambassador Worf, I am here to place you under arrest.” She spoke calmly. 

“Arrest?” There was a restrained anger when he spoke  —  years of service to StarFleet had made him less impulsive. A younger Worf might have treated this as a battle. He knew he had good odds if he took on the three of them, but that would likely make whatever was happening worse in the long run, not better. 

“This will be much easier if you cooperate with us.” The Vulcan woman's monotone was grating, but Worf fought back at the feeling of annoyance, trying to think clearly. 

He raised his hands in surrender. “I would like to be told what I am being arrested for, and then I would like to speak to the Captain.”

“Follow me, Ambassador.” 

Fighting every instinct, he allowed himself to be handcuffed, and taken from the room. 

***

_ Two Days Later _

Julian was in his office, reading a recent meta-analysis on proper care of head injuries in Cardassians. The afternoon sun streamed through the window behind him, making it a bit hard to read off his view screen, but he liked the light, so he didn’t close the blinds. He was sipping Tarkalean tea, extra sweet absentmindedly, when he received an incoming call. 

On seeing the caller he smiled, and accepted it. 

“Ezri, Lovely to see you! I had heard the USS McCormack would be in these parts soon. Glad to see you made it to our neck of the quadrant safely.” Julian smiled at the view screen. “Though the circumstances could be better.” Looking at the screen, he found that the light from the window obscured his face, so he swiveled, closing the blinds. 

Now much more visible, Ezri smiled back at him, her hair still short, and her spots lovely as ever. The command red suited her, additional pips only improving the look. She appeared to be calling from her quarters. 

“It’s nice to see you too, Julian. This call is in fact in a completely official capacity.” Ezri seemed tired; her eyes lacked something of that Dax fire, like she hadn’t been sleeping well. It was unfortunately not hard to understand why that might be. 

“I read a short report on the dam collapse on the Aschelan V yesterday, so that makes sense. It’s one of the more populated Cardassian planets in that sector, so as you might imagine there’s quite a bit of concern about the disaster.” Julian frowned. 

“As you know, we we’re on route to Cardassia Prime with the whole Klingon delegation when it happened. We’ve been detained indefinitely to provide aid, delaying the diplomatic conference who knows how long.” She sighed. 

“Yes, my report included those details. You have enough doctors and nurses?”

“Yes. We had over 100 arrive today and 50 more are coming tomorrow. Dr. Parmak has been coordinating the effort.”

“Good, good. How bad is it? The report was very preliminary, and lacked some of the desired details.”

“It’s bad, Julian. The collapse was catastrophic and complete. Downstream villages have seen serious flooding and the initial wave was enough to kill many people instantly. Most of yesterday was spent attempting to shore up the downstream dam, an effort which ultimately failed. Luckily we were able to evacuate the residents before the second collapse,” Ezri replied seriously. 

“How many casualties?” Julian was almost afraid to ask. 

“At least 200 dead. Another 500 missing. Thousands seriously injured.” He winced as she said it. Cardassians were getting to their feet, recovering from the Dominion war. Seven years later, that had seen serious progress. But many still needed time to heal, and this provided the opposite. Tens of thousands of refugees, several days away from Prime by warp. It was a logistical nightmare by any standard, let alone for such a new government. 

“And the villages?” 

“Not immediately habitable. It’s unclear how much of the water will remain a permanent feature, or if they may be able to resettle. Of course without the dams, there is much less power available on the surface. That's causing logistical challenges as well.”

“And you’re sure I shouldn’t be there?” Julian considered for a moment the idea of a few days away from Prime, and felt relief at the thought, followed immediately by guilt. 

“We have plenty of help, and you’re two days out anyway.” Dax sighed again. “But believe it or not, that’s not why I called. There’s something else.”

“Something else?” Julian’s face scrunched in confusion. 

“We’ve had an assassination on board. As far as I know it hasn’t hit the net yet, but I expect that can’t last more than a day or so. It’ll be in the news in half the quadrant sooner than later.”

“I haven’t heard anything about it.” 

“One of the Klingon delegation was murdered,” said Ezri seriously. 

“Who?” Julian’s curiosity verged on inappropriate, he tried to hold it back from his voice, to sound more disinterested than he was. 

“Ko’rath.” 

“He was particularly anti-Federation, was he not?” Dr. Bashir had been asked to attend the now delayed diplomatic summit, and had taken it upon himself to learn about the Klingon delegation, since he felt less well versed in that area than with Federation or Cardassian politics. 

“Yes, and not too quiet about those beliefs.” Ezri shifted uncomfortably in her chair. 

“Is there any idea of who killed him, or why?” 

“That’s why I’m calling. We have Worf in the brig for it right now.”

“Worf? Mr. ‘That is not honorable’?” Julian asked, his voice briefly mimicking some of the characteristics of Worf’s own as he enunciated ‘That is not honorable’. 

“The knife that killed Ko’rath was his, and it had no traces of any other DNA on it,” stated Dax, seemingly working hard to keep her emotions out of it. 

“What does Worf say?”

“He swears on his honor that he didn’t do it.”

“Then I for one would be inclined to believe him.” Julian couldn’t think of anyone more honest than Worf, especially where his honor was involved. 

“Me too, though that might just be Dax talking.” Ezri frowned, looking down. It was clear that this had been weighing on her, and that she felt it was her job to remain professional all the same. 

“No, I don’t think so Ezri. I mean maybe, maybe he would do it if someone in command asked him to, but even that seems unlikely.”

“Do you think he would keep a secret if commanded?” Dax’s voice didn’t quite quaver. 

“If it was Martok or Picard that asked him, maybe. But come on, if you want a secret assassin you don’t ask Worf.”

“You would believe him then?” asked Dax. 

“Perhaps some sort of drug or technology was used to make him commit the act and then forget it. But if Worf said on his honor he didn’t do it, than I would say he believes he didn’t do it. Is there anything more important to Worf than his honor?”

“Worf prefers an honorable defeat to a dishonorable win,” she replied, more confidently. 

“Exactly. How are the Klingons taking it?”

“They’re furious of course. There have been calls to cancel the diplomatic conference. They want him extradited to Qu’onos for what I would understand is a speedy death. We’ve been able to hold them off a bit. He’s to be held on our brig till after the conference. That’s only thanks to Martok.” 

“Of course. I assume there’s an ongoing investigation?” 

“Yes. They’ve made sure I’m not involved. There’s a perception that I may be biased.” Ezri smiled sadly. 

“If they can’t find any evidence that he didn’t do it, it looks bad enough for the Federation as is,” said Julian. 

“The optics are incredibly bad.” Ezri paused for a moment before continuing “I was wondering if you would ask your husband about it?”

“Do you think he would know something we don’t? It happened rather far away.” He furrowed his brow at the suggestion. 

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

“Ezri, he’s a tailor,” Julian replied emphatically, despite not believing his own protestations. 

“Yeah just like he was a tailor on Deep Space Nine. Come on Julian, let’s not be naïve.” For a moment, she sounded more like Jadzia. 

“Okay, yeah I’ll ask him. Any reason you couldn’t call him directly?”

“I don’t want to be seen as leading the investigation.”

“I’ll let you know," he said. 

"Thanks, Julian. Take care."

"You too. Good luck, Ezri.” Julian terminated the call before frowning.

***

When he got home from work, dinner was replicated and on the table. The front entryway opened on the kitchen and dining room, which were a single large space. Garak was sitting at the large rectangular dining room table, idly sipping a glass of spring wine and reading something on his PADD. 

The kitchen was painted a dark peach color, which gave the room a warm tone. Early in their marriage, Julian had suggested they repaint, leading to argument after argument. Garak suggested a lighter version of the color it was already painted, while Julian argued for greens and blues. Any suggestion which Garak considered, he modified to one more preposterous and outlandish. The arguments over paint color got so heated and erotic that they often didn’t make it to the bedroom. The one thing they could agree on was that they absolutely should repaint, neither of them particularly favoring the current shade. Because they never could agree on a color, they hadn’t repainted, leaving the rather ugly shade that Tain had selected at least a decade before. 

“Evening dear,” Garak said, not looking up from the PADD. 

Julian sat down across from him and poured himself a glass of springwine. 

“I talked to Ezri today. The USS McCormack is leading the aid efforts on Aschelan V.” 

“I assume they’re delaying the diplomatic meeting then?” Garak asked, eyes still on his PADD. 

“Yes, but that’s not why she called. She thought you might have some insight on Worf.”

“Worf?” Garak put his PADD down, his eyes held a concealed curiosity.  _ Well at least something can grab his attention… _

“She thinks he’s been framed for the death of a fellow Klingon, Ko’rath.”

“Should I know that name?” Garak asked, though Julian couldn’t imagine that he wasn’t just feigning ignorance. 

“Perhaps not, he was a member of the Klingon high council, and one without love for the Federation.”

“And there’s evidence Mr. Worf killed him?” Elim’s blue eyes were curious, drilling into Julian. 

“They have the murder weapon, and it doesn’t have anyone else’s DNA but his on it,” Julian replied, frowning. 

“How unfortunate for him.”

“Ezri thought you might know something.”

“Me, a tailor? Know something about a murder committed light years from here?” When he said it like that, Julian heard Ezri’s words rattle around in his head, and he thought about all the moments he’d tried his best to ignore. 

“A stretch, I know, but anything would help.” Julian smiled a tight smile; he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“I’m unfortunately unable to help. Though this conversation reminded me of a commission I’ve been putting off. I should really go back to the shop, dear.”

He wanted to say ‘The act was wearing a little thin six months ago, dear. Now it’s positively threadbare.’ or ‘You cannot honestly expect me to keep believing this particular lie’ but instead he said “You’ve hardly had two bites of dinner!”

“Such is the life of a tailor. To achieve superior results, one must dedicate themselves absolutely. Not wishing to create inferior work, I find myself much too busy,” Garak replied in his customer service voice. 

It was a tone that set Julian on edge, making him want to scream. But instead he sighed and watched his husband gather his things and head out the door. He’d been seeing his husband’s back much too frequently lately, and for none of the more fun reasons. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be about half the length, but it got away from me. I hope you like it. Your comment and kudos, as always, make me smile.


End file.
